


not lost, although i long to be

by agentrhiannon



Series: light, and a promise [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Relationships, F/M, Golden Deer Route, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Verdant Wind Spoilers, let's be real this is all claudeleth, pre s-support makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 08:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentrhiannon/pseuds/agentrhiannon
Summary: The change came on slowly.Byleth barely noticed it at first—the way his eyes lit up whenever his battle schemes went off without a hitch, or when someone managed to scrounge up some Almyran pine tea, or when she returned safely to the monastery after a mission—and the way her heart almost seemed to beat in response. She found herself inviting him to tea, requesting his favorite meals in the dining hall, challenging him to games of chess, just to see that smile.In which Byleth uses the war as an excuse to deny her feelings (and then to indulge them).
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: light, and a promise [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539346
Comments: 17
Kudos: 260





	not lost, although i long to be

The war went on. They spent nearly every waking minute together: eating, sparring, researching, plotting.

The change came on slowly.

Byleth barely noticed it at first—the way his eyes lit up whenever his battle schemes went off without a hitch, or when someone managed to scrounge up some Almyran pine tea, or when she returned safely to the monastery after a mission—and the way her heart almost seemed to beat in response. She found herself inviting him to tea, requesting his favorite meals in the dining hall, challenging him to games of chess, just to see that smile.

It wasn’t until a training session one day that it finally hit her.

She was drilling her distance fighters on basic hand-to-hand combat, in case they ever found themselves too close to an enemy fighter and without a weapon. She asked for someone to help her demonstrate, and Claude jumped up, grinning his cockiest grin, and proclaimed, “I bet I can take you, Teach. Let me show ‘em how it’s done.” 

He was no match for her, of course. 

It took all of ten seconds before she had him pinned on the ground beneath her. His eyes were wide, his mouth hung open, and he looked so shocked at this frankly inevitable outcome that Byleth couldn’t help laughing. His mouth widened into that huge grin she loved so much, and then he was laughing too.

“Maybe you could give me private lessons some time, Teach,” he wheezed.

Byleth’s breath caught in her chest as she recalled another time she had startled him, and his laughter wavered as the implication of his words sank in. 

Suddenly she was sharply aware of how close they were—of his hands on her hips, his mouth inches from her own, her body pressed to his. She had never been so grateful to not have a heartbeat. His throat bobbed. She saw something in his face that she couldn’t name, and she wanted—

She pushed away from him and stood up. “Yeah, you could definitely use the practice,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. Whatever flicker she had seen in Claude’s face was gone. As he stood and brushed himself off, she gave instructions for everyone to pair up and practice, then sat at the edge of the training grounds to observe.

She tried to watch everyone. She really did. But she found her eyes being drawn back to Claude again and again. It had been a few months since she’d woken up to find the whole world had moved on without her, but she still sometimes found herself, in quiet moments like this, admitting she was not used to how much things, and people, had changed. Claude especially always seemed to draw her notice. He had somehow gotten taller in the five years she had slept, but most of the time his physique was hidden beneath his bulky uniform. Now, free of his formal wear and dressed in light, loose training clothes, his toned muscles and tanned skin were on full display. (Byleth tugged at her collar. It was really hot in here today.)

The first time he successfully ducked around Leonie and tripped her, he beamed with triumph, and Byleth felt like beaming too. 

The thought entered her head unbidden that Claude’s emotions—his joys and sorrows, successes and failures—affected her quite a lot more than those of her other students, and she surprised herself to acknowledge that this was true. She surprised herself even more to realize that his presence alone was enough to affect her mood. She could be in a room full of friends and feel inexplicably anxious and tense, like she was waiting for something but didn’t know what—and then Claude would come through the door, and she would relax. 

She sought his company constantly. Even when he wasn’t around, she’d start to think about him for no particular reason. Lately she had gotten in the habit of glancing up at his bedroom window as she returned to her own room each night. More often than not, she would see a lamp glowing in his window late into the night, and she worried he wasn’t getting enough sleep.

For a long time, another thought had lived in the back of Byleth’s mind, constant and unacknowledged. But now, as she watched Claude bump fists with Leonie and take a few swigs of water, the thought began to creep forward. It felt dangerous, terrifying. She didn’t invite it, didn’t welcome it, but the longer she sat here, watching him, the harder it was to keep it at bay.

Did she… have _ feelings _ for—

“Um… Professor?”

Byleth snapped into focus as Hilda leaned into her field of vision and gave a little wave.

“Hm? Do you need something?” Byleth asked. Clearly, Hilda had been trying to get her attention for several moments.

“Yes, I wanted to ask your opinion on this battle strategy,” Hilda said, holding up a sheaf of papers, “but… are you okay? You seem a little… preoccupied.” Her head swiveled to follow Byleth’s gaze—and her eyes lit up when they landed on Claude. Byleth’s stomach dropped.

Oh.

Oh no.

How long had she been staring at him?

Hilda’s eyes darted back and forth between them, her face brightening with an impish, knowing smile. Byleth quickly stood up, taking the papers from her. “It’s nothing,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm even though her mind was racing. “Let’s take these back to the war room and we can go over them together.”

If Hilda suspected something, she didn’t say so. But her eyes glittered with mischief as she said, “Let me go grab Claude. He needs to see the plans too.”

Byleth nodded, face carefully impassive. As Hilda flitted away, Byleth closed that dangerous thought away and shoved it into a corner of her mind for later.

She didn’t think about it as she, Hilda, and Claude leaned over the maps and calculations for their next skirmish.

She didn’t think about it throughout the five hours of the official war council that afternoon, Judith sitting on one side of her and Claude on the other.

She didn’t think about it during dinner, when she shared a table with Claude and the rest of her old class.

She didn’t think about it until she returned to her room late that night. Still dressed, she lay on her bed, on top of the covers, flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. She returned to the dusty room in the back of her mind and retrieved the box with the dangerous thought. Opening it, she knew, would change everything.

It wasn’t too late. She could leave it alone.

...No, she couldn’t.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and allowed the thought to take root:

_ I’m in love with Claude. _

She thought she had been ready to admit this simple fact to herself, but the rush of joy—relief—euphoria—_ peace _—that followed nearly took her breath away.

The thrill was short-lived before the next thought brought her crashing back down.

_ I can’t tell him. _

There was a war.

He was the leader of the Alliance and, she suspected, the heir to the throne of Almyra. She was a general, not to mention responsible for the Church of Seiros. Neither of them could afford to be distracted. And anyway, how selfish—how _ presumptuous _ was she to think he felt the same about her?

_ He does, _ her heart whispered, and she wanted so badly to believe it, but then she remembered she didn’t have a heart, and how could it know what was true if it didn’t exist?

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to weep. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck—kiss him until she couldn’t breathe—shove him against a wall and—

She swallowed and pushed the thought away.

She would shut this down, for his sake as well as her own. Lock the emotions away. She had done it before and she would do it again. She was the Ashen Demon, after all. Games of chess and afternoon tea were enough. She would be... satisfied. 

She had to be.

***

He asked her to come meet the Alliance lords with him, and she couldn’t say no.

Byleth had never excelled at politics. Growing up as a mercenary, especially one raised by Jeralt Bladebreaker, meant she had little experience with people and even less with nobles. Her expertise lay on the battlefield. But she was always impressed by Claude’s skill at managing the Alliance lords with all their disparate interests and whims, and this trip was no exception. Thankfully, her only job was to nod along and provide her usual solemn presence, which gave her plenty of opportunity to watch him. He was confident, witty, in command of his every action and too clever by half for any of these preening nobles to follow. Politics were his strong suit, and she liked seeing him at his best.

Well—she enjoyed it during the war council, the politics of which she could mostly follow, and during which she got to watch Claude eviscerate Lord Edmund’s excuses for not providing his promised reinforcements, with such a polite smile on his face that one might have thought he was inviting Lord Edmund to tea.

The lavish dinner and reception that evening were… less entertaining.

She was in a bad mood almost from the moment they sat down to the sumptuous feast prepared for them. By the time they adjourned to the drawing room for drinks and dessert, she only felt worse. She thought she must be exhausted from a long day of travel and meetings and being polite. Then she tried to convince herself that she hated the extravagance of it all when her soldiers back at Garreg Mach were living on wartime rations. And then she told herself she was sick of being around all these fancy lords and ladies, especially since they actually tried to _ talk _ to her, and she couldn’t just sit back and observe.

Of course, the real problem was Claude.

Or, not Claude, exactly—he was as charismatic and irresistible as ever—but rather the fact that, over the course of the evening, it seemed like _ every noble in the Alliance _ approached him to propose a betrothal between him and their daughters.

They were all ingratiating compliments and simpering looks, trying to flatter their way into his good graces, regardless of what they’d said to him during the war council (or in whispers to their neighbors during dinner). Claude deflected every one with courteous smiles and good-natured we’ll-have-to-wait-and-see-after-the-war excuses.

He gave none of them a definitive _ no _.

Byleth knew she had no right to be upset. She had no claim to him. There had been no declarations, no promises—nothing but a snatched kiss five years ago and an internal admission of probably one-sided feelings. This was just part of the deal for nobles. Forging alliances through marriage was politically crucial, and as she had been reminded during the council, Claude was incredibly astute at politics.

Still.

Late in the evening, she found herself stuck with a trio of noble ladies who were discussing how difficult it was to find a decent cook in times like these, and who seemed to completely forget her existence as soon as she told them she had always cooked her own meals until coming to the monastery. Her attention drifted back to Claude, who had just been approached by a lord she didn’t recognize, and from the look on the man’s face, she could guess what he wanted to discuss. Claude still had a diplomatic smile pasted on his face, but it was obvious to her that he was worn out. She felt a flash of pity. He probably wasn’t enjoying these endless obsequious exchanges any more than she was.

Byleth quickly extricated herself from the three chatting ladies, and before the man could get more than a few words in, she made her way across the room and tapped Claude on the shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, trying to sound refined and apologetic, “but I’m ready to retire for the evening and I’m afraid I don’t know the way to my room. Claude, would you mind…?”

Claude looked confused. She’d been to her room to change before dinner— she wouldn’t have forgotten how to get there a few hours later. She raised her eyebrows slightly, willing him to understand. Then something clicked in his face, and he nodded. “Of course. If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed to the man, who looked disappointed but bowed in return.

He grabbed a candlestick from the sideboard and together they retreated into the darkened mansion.

“You looked like you could use an escape,” she said when they were safely out of earshot of the drawing room.

He let out a sigh of relief. “Definitely. Thanks for that.”

“I never knew you were so popular,” she teased.

“Comes with the territory,” he said, and winked. “Doesn’t hurt that I’m also extremely charming.”

She opened her mouth to agree—and then realized she couldn’t exactly tell him that _ yes, he was absolutely the most charming man she’d ever met _—and so instead she said the next thing she could think of, which was, “You didn’t tell any of them no.”

He was silent.

That… may have sounded a little bitter, she realized.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but he spoke first.

“I can’t give any of them an outright no,” he said, as they started up the stairs. His words came out in a rush, like he needed to get them out before he could change his mind. “I need their support in this war, and after. I have to at least leave the option on the table to form an alliance with any of their houses. Otherwise they may not be so willing to come to our aid with reinforcements or supplies, much less to go along with my more ambitious plans for Fódlan when all is said and done. I want to break down the barriers between Fódlan and the outside world, and I can’t do that without their help.” He glanced at her and quickly added, “But I’m not actually planning to marry any of them, if I can avoid it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t love any of them.” He said it with certainty, as if, despite everything he’d just said about diplomacy and political alliances, it was the only possible answer.

They were at the landing. Byleth felt a pounding in her chest where her heart should have been as they turned into the corridor. “You would throw away your political advantage to marry for love?”

There was a long pause before he said, simply, “Yes.”

They had reached her door. Her stomach was twisted in knots. She didn’t go inside but turned to look at him. In the candlelight, his face was all shadows. “Why are you telling me this?” she nearly whispered.

“I… don’t know,” he admitted. His brow furrowed. “I guess I thought… you deserve to know. Because right now I have to—I can’t—” He broke off, then tried again, “I thought I owed you an explanation. For why I’m doing… all that.”

She forgot, most of the time, how much taller he was than her. Now he stood so close she had to tilt her head back to look at his face.

He took her hand, rubbing circles in the back of it with his thumb.

“Byleth, I...” He trailed off, as if unsure himself about what he was going to say.

He bent his head a fraction closer to hers. Her throat ached.

Footsteps creaked on the stairs.

In one smooth motion, he dropped her hand and stepped back, expression carefully neutral. Moments later, a noble appeared on the landing. Claude gave him a courteous nod as he passed. Down the hall, the man’s door opened with the groan of centuries-old wood, then shut with a click.

The air was heavy with things left unsaid.

Undone.

“Well... good night, Teach.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. He turned—wavered—continued down the hall to his room.

_ It’s better this way, _ she reminded herself as he left.

His bedroom door closed behind him and the light from his candle disappeared, leaving her in darkness.

***

The week before they invaded the Empire, Lorenz and Marianne were married.

He proposed to her a few days after they took Fort Merceus. Even though neither of their parents could attend on such short notice, they decided not to wait. (Byleth had a sneaking suspicion that they didn’t actually inform their fathers about the wedding until it was too late to object.) With only weeks to prepare, the wedding was perhaps not as grand as Lorenz would have liked, but Marianne thought it was perfect, and so he didn’t seem to mind.

They asked Byleth to perform the ceremony.

The cathedral was bedecked with roses, grown quickly and abundantly in the greenhouse with a push from Lysithea’s magic. Marianne wore a simple white dress and a crown of roses. She entered the cathedral with an aura of quiet confidence and serene beauty, and no one in attendance could look away. Hilda wept openly, even though she had done Marianne’s makeup herself and had seen her a few minutes earlier. Lorenz’s jaw dropped and his cheeks flushed. Claude, standing behind him as best man, clapped him on the shoulder and positively glowed with excitement for his friends. It was quite possibly the sweetest thing Byleth had ever seen.

After the ceremony, they held a reception in the great hall, with toasts, gifts, a feast they had managed to pull together, and, of course, dancing. Late into the night, the hall was lively with music and chatter and laughter. It was a very long time since Byleth had been to a wedding, and almost as long since anyone here had something so unequivocally joyful to celebrate. Everyone seemed happy for an excuse to forget about the war for a few hours and just _ live _.

Byleth stood to the side of the hall and watched as the dancers whirled in waltzes and gavottes and a dozen other dances she’d never heard of. Her eyes kept drifting back to Lorenz and Marianne, gazing at each other like there was no one else in the room. Marianne radiated happiness, and Lorenz’s face melted at her smile. Byleth had never seen him look so... soft.

She recognized that look. It was the same one Jeralt had whenever he’d talked about her mother—the one Sylvain reserved only for Mercedes—the one Ferdinand lavished on Flayn when Seteth wasn’t around—the same one as—

“Care for a dance, Teach?” She turned, and there was Claude, hand extended. His eyes glittered knowingly, and she knew he was also thinking about a night five years ago, much like this one, when he had asked her to dance.

“I have to warn you,” she said, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips, “I’m still a terrible dancer.”

He leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, voice low, “but so am I.”

Byleth let the grin loose. She took his hand, and he pulled her into the dance.

Neither of them had exaggerated their utter lack of dancing skills. They spun across the floor, stumbling, stepping on each other’s feet, trying and failing to avoid careening into other couples. For all her grace on the battlefield and his poise on a wyvern, on the dance floor they were both hopelessly lost. Every time she tripped, he laughed more; every time he guided her straight into another dancer, her chest wheezed, which only made everything harder.

They managed to survive the entire song. As the other dancers applauded the musicians, they stood together, chests heaving like they had just finished a training session. Byleth’s cheeks hurt. She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed like this, but she was sure it had been with Claude. His forest green eyes roved her face, and she couldn’t look away.

A new song started. Claude tipped his head toward the door, eyebrows raised. Byleth nodded. 

They slipped out into the night. 

They walked in companionable silence, and through some unspoken agreement, their feet carried them to the top of the Goddess Tower.

The full moon glowed high overhead, presiding over the warm night and the celebration taking place below. Leaning on the balcony overlooking the monastery, Claude at her side, Byleth was reminded again of that night five years ago, and of how much everything had changed. She wondered if Claude was thinking the same thing. It was a long time before either of them spoke.

“You did a great job on the ceremony, Teach,” he said finally.

“Thanks.” She screwed up her face a little, embarrassed. “I tried to convince them that Seteth was the better choice since he’s, you know, actually an official in the church and not just a temporary stand-in. But they insisted.”

“Well, I thought it was lovely. Simple yet beautiful, as all weddings should be.” He grimaced comically. “Although I think Lorenz might have wished it was just a little bit grander under other circumstances.”

She chuckled. “He told me months ago that he planned to wait until after the war to get married. I’m happy for them, but I wonder what changed?”

“I asked him about that before the ceremony.”

“And?”

“Well… I guess he and Marianne have been in love for a long time. Several years, in fact. But they agreed to wait until after the war to do anything about it, so they could do everything properly—you know, the courting, the big wedding, alliances forged between noble families and all that stuff. And then…” He paused. “Fort Merceus happened, and… you remember.”

She did remember, better than he knew. Lorenz had nearly died in a desperate bid to keep the Death Knight from escaping. No, not nearly—he had been killed. Byleth would never get that image out of her mind, nor the scream that ripped from Marianne’s throat, as if her heart had been hacked into pieces. Byleth had turned back time and gotten Marianne close enough to save him, but it had still been a near thing.

“Anyway,” Claude continued, “Lorenz said being that close to death made him realize what an idiot he’d been not to marry her years ago, war be darned. Death could come for either of them at any moment, and before it did, they wanted to spend every minute they could with the one they loved.”

Byleth smiled softly. “Sounds like he’s got his priorities straightened out.”

Claude let out a heavy sigh. “War has a way of doing that. Everything gets flipped on its head.” He hesitated. “Like… how unbelievably jealous I am of Lorenz right now.”

Byleth stepped away and brought her hand to her chest in mock alarm. “You? Jealous of _ Lorenz _? Did I hit you too hard in practice yesterday?”

He laughed, but it was strained. “I know, I know! But I am. I genuinely envy his... impulsiveness.”

Byleth frowned and placed a hand on his forehead. “Maybe I should take you to see Manuela.” 

This time he didn’t laugh, but instead took her hand in both of his and rubbed her fingers, slowly. When he spoke again, his voice had gone very quiet. “Laugh all you want, but it’s true. He doesn’t have the weight of being both the leader of the Alliance and… also rather important in Almyra on his shoulders. Not that he’s not important, especially in his own mind, but comparatively speaking, he’s pretty much free to do whatever he wants. He doesn’t have to worry about throwing away his whole country’s future by marrying the wrong person. He can be with the woman he loves without hesitation.”

Byleth felt her face grow hot. _ What was he trying to say? _ She pulled her hand away and spoke quickly, before she could do anything she might regret. “I think you might be oversimplifying his situation a bit. Besides, I know how important your dreams are to you, and you can only accomplish them in the position you’re in now. Given the choice, I don’t think you’d trade places with him. Right?”

His breath came out in a huff. “I guess so.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I swear you know me better than I know myself. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Her mouth felt dry. She swallowed. “You’d be fine.”

“I’m not so sure.”

He looked at her, eyes searching. She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Give yourself more credit. I know you consider me a valuable piece on your chessboard, but you’re clever, and resourceful, and an excellent leader. You don’t need me to win this war.”

“...That’s not what I meant.” He turned away and took several steps back into the tower, his back to her.

“Do you know what happens whenever you leave the monastery without me?” His words came out slowly, like he was wrestling with himself about whether he should be saying this. “I go crazy. I feel restless and anxious, and I can't sleep, and I can't stop worrying about you until you're back and I've seen you with my own eyes.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Every time you walk through those gates, I’m terrified I’ll never see you again. Every single time, I wonder if this is the one where you don’t come back. The one where you’ll disappear on me again. For good.”

Byleth took a deep breath, gripping the balcony ledge with both hands to stop them shaking. “...Because I’m so important to your cause.”

He turned back to her, and she couldn’t be sure in the moonlight, but she thought a hint of red had crept into his cheeks. “That’s what I tell myself. If I were being rational, that would be what I’m most afraid of, but I’m not.” He stepped closer and placed his hands on the balcony wall on either side of her. His eyes were trained intensely on her face, like he was searching for something.

He was so close. Byleth felt her phantom heartbeat accelerate. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse.

“I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t. I promise.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it did not tremble.

“You can’t know that. You didn’t exactly have a choice last time.”

She closed her eyes, breathed in, breathed out, met his gaze, and said, “If it were up to me, I would never leave your side again.”

His eyes widened slightly, flickering across her face, and his mouth opened as if to speak, but he seemed at a loss for words. She felt her chest squeeze and burn like all the air had been sucked away. She had to break the tension somehow or she would go mad, so she added, “And besides, someone’s got to stick around to keep your poisoning tendencies in check.”

That did it. Claude laughed softly and laid his forehead on her shoulder, burying his face in her shirt.

They both grew completely still. Byleth’s breath hitched, and she felt an ache of _ wanting _ in the back of her throat. She heard Claude swallow. It felt like time had stopped.

Then—maybe it was hours, or minutes, or just seconds—Claude slid his hands from the balcony and up to her shoulders. Slowly, like trying not to spook a wyvern, he turned his head into the crook of her neck. Byleth didn’t move.

She felt his lips brush the base of her neck.

Felt his warm breath as his mouth gently traced up the curve of her neck and pressed a kiss just behind her ear. She shivered.

He hesitated, and in that instant, he seemed like he was going to pull away, and she was certain that if he did he would never do this again, and the empty hole where her heart was cried out _ no, don’t leave, _ and every reason she’d had for _ not doing this _ fled her mind, and she wanted him _ so badly _—and so before he could back out, she turned her head and cupped his cheeks with her hands and kissed him.

For a moment, her mind flashed back to the first night she had kissed him here. She recalled the way he had frozen beneath her touch, but this time—

This time, he kissed her back, gentle and steady, and it was ten thousand times better than the kiss she had stolen.

He tasted like pine and honey. She rubbed her thumb against his cheek, rough with stubble and smelling of aftershave. He put one hand on the back of her neck and tilted his head to kiss her more deeply. Every fear and every excuse floated away on the midnight breeze. There would be time, later, to think about war, and politics, and whether this was wise. Right now, there was only him. 

She pulled away so she could breathe, and there was that look again—the one she had seen on so many other faces, the one he had given her in the ballroom, the one she now knew he meant only for her—she named it what it was—she called it _ love _.

His eyes sparked, and he drew her lips back to his. His kisses became eager, hungry; she felt greedy and bold and desperate. Five years was a long time to wait, even if she had slept through most of it. He kissed her again, again, _ again _ , as if he couldn’t get enough. She took his lower lip between her teeth and he moaned, softly, in the back of his throat. His hands went to her hips and he lifted her up onto the balcony wall, shifting closer, pressing his body to hers. His fingers tangled in her hair as his other hand reached for the small of her back. Her whole body thrummed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and twined her legs together around his. She wanted _ every inch _ of him—she wanted to make him completely, absolutely, undeniably hers, and she never wanted him to stop doing _ this _.

“I’m not a religious man,” he murmured after a while, lips at the corner of her mouth, “but I’ll have to thank the goddess next time I’m in the cathedral.”

His fingers played around the hemline of her shirt, and each time he met her bare skin she felt a buzzing in her middle. He was making it _ very difficult _ to focus. “For what?” she said hoarsely. 

“Blessing us to meet here again.” His mouth trailed up her jawline.

“I guess that kiss did the trick, huh?” she managed.

“Mmm.” He nipped at her ear and whispered, “It’s especially amazing considering I made the whole thing up.”

“I knew it,” she grinned into his shoulder. He nuzzled her neck. Byleth felt delicious, and warm, and deliriously happy. Her hands knitted in the back of his shirt, and she tilted her head back, letting herself sink into his touch.

And suddenly it occurred to her that she was sitting quite close to a three hundred foot drop.

“Maybe we should move this elsewhere,” she said breathlessly, as he dipped his head to press a kiss to the hollow of her throat. She opened her eyes and peeked over the edge of the balcony. “I’m in a bit of a precarious position here.”

He hummed in the back of his throat, bringing her knuckles to his lips with one hand while the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight. “I’ve seen you in battle. You’ve got impeccable balance.” He eased her fingers open and pressed a kiss to her palm. His eyes never left her face, as though he were drinking in the sight of her. Her head felt fuzzy.

“I appreciate your confidence,” she breathed, closing her eyes again as he leaned into her touch, “but right now you’re making me a little dizzy.”

She felt his lips brush the tip of her nose. “Alright,” he murmured, “Solid footing coming right up.” He kissed her again, steady and soft, as his other arm went around her waist and he lifted her off the balcony wall and stepped back. Even six inches above the floor and a foot away from a sharp drop, his arms around her felt solid and warm, and as he lowered her slowly to the ground, still kissing her, Byleth was determined that no matter what was in store for them, during the war or after, she would not be parted from him. 

With a sigh, he rested his forehead against hers. “I suppose we should go back to the party. Lorenz will never let me hear the end of it if I don’t give him and Marianne the proper congratulations.”

“Are you kidding me?” Byleth laughed. “They snuck away before we did. I can’t believe you didn’t notice, o master schemer.”

“I was a little distracted at the time.” His smile was earnest and bright, and Byleth thought she would never tire of it. “Well! Looks like we suddenly find ourselves free of obligations for the rest of the night. Any ideas for how we should spend our time?”

Byleth went up on her toes to plant a kiss on his lips. “I’ve got a few.”

He grinned at her, and she grinned back, and she thought, _ Ashen Demon who? _

She took his hand and led him down the tower steps.

**Author's Note:**

> I was just going to write a makeout scene on the night of the ball and then it snowballed. And here we are.
> 
> I'm playing Blue Lions route right now and it's BREAKING MY HEART that I can't recruit Claude. I bought him flowers on his birthday even though I knew it would do literally nothing except waste my gold but I miss my boy *weeps forever*
> 
> I had a ton of fun writing this but also it took me three months to write because I'm sloooooooow lol. Expect no more fics from me any time soon, my friends. (But if you have any suggestions for tags please let me know!)
> 
> (title from "I am not yours" by Sara Teasdale)


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